Esme the Artful Dodger
by edwardian1901
Summary: An outtake from "An Old-fashioned Husband." Circa 1921. Newborn Esme struggles with a bad habit of lifting thing. She steals a 30-foot sailboat and Edward is stuck trying to set things to rights. Will Carlisle be forced to take drastic measures? Contains consensual domestic discipline, corporal punishment, spanking.
1. Chapter 1

**Edward, Carlisle, and Esme are the intellectual property of Stephenie Meyer.**

**In this story, however, I will use them for my own amusement, and perhaps for yours. Ms. Meyer's characters would never behave as badly as mine.**

**I do not recall who, but one of my faithful readers of "An Old-fashioned Husband" requested this story ages ago. This is for you, if you feel inclined to step forward and accept. This is also for my new friend, Cumor, who inspired and encouraged me with her brilliant Carlisle/Esme trilogy and specifically a rather controversial Dr. C/Es fic, which we shall not speak of for fear of flames.**

**Cumor made me write after I'd sworn off it. Please direct your props/complaints appropriately. (****Get your fire extinguisher handy, mate!)**

**My beta, sisterglitch, is much more than that. She is Alpha in my heart, and I would do anything for her.**

EPOV

Making my way home after a companionless hunt, I detected my father's new mate near our house, where I'd left her. I was hoping that she wouldn't be there, that she'd let herself out on one of her wanders.

So I wasn't exactly an enthusiast of the new sister. I mean, stepmother. Uh, half-sister? Father's wife? Whichever she is. What can I say? It takes _time_ for me to adapt to new situations.

Although I peered inside his head regularly—as long as what was going on wasn't too indecent—I couldn't quite comprehend what my sire saw in her. So you got a girl to go to bed with you. Way to go, Carlisle. Where I come from there is a word for such girls, and they are not hard to find, if you know where to look.

Now I saw the attraction—the romance, the connection—from his perspective. He was helpless to its instinctive trap. But from my view, this falling in love nonsense was complete drivel.

I know what you're thinking_. You're really selfish, Edward. Why not let the man have his happiness?_ Save your breath. I'll tell you why. Because _I_ was his happiness before she came along.

And she's trouble—an outright thorn in my flesh.

That's why I want her out of my house.

Of course, when Esme wandered from home without Carlisle or myself, there was usually a mess to clean up. On her bad days, it was a _messy_ mess, a body to dispose of. For that reason, Carlisle had asked her not to go out without one of us.

He didn't really expect her to _always_ be good. And so, while he was at the clinic, I was supposed to keep an eye on her.

Naturally that made her slip-ups my fault. Everything was always my fault.

On Esme's better days, she didn't murder anybody, and to her credit, these faux pas had become more rare. But now we struggled with _another_ bad habit. One that Carlisle frowned upon, if not with such moral distaste, then certainly with grave disapproval.

Nearing home, I heard Esme's mental panic going in circles: _"What am I going to do? What's he going to say? He's going to be so disappointed in me! How am I to explain? I don't know why I keep doing this. Oh, what am I going to do?"_

As I came into the clearing, my sight was captured by a rather sizable anomaly. It was large boat leaning on its side in the yard—a handsome piece, wooden with ivory sails, about thirty feet from bow to stern.

Now we lived near the coast, but to find a shipwreck at our home in the woods was...unexpected to say the least. Then I saw Esme, sitting on the ground, hugging her knees, rocking back and forth.

Oh, despite the peculiarity of the scene, I knew exactly what had happened here.

It was precisely this sort of behavior from Esme that would get _me_ in trouble. _Well,_ I thought, _might as well have a bit of fun with this._

I put on an outraged face. "Esme! What have you done?"

She whimpered. "I don't know...I didn't mean..."

"This is...this is beyond the pale."

Esme was cringing, her defensiveness overtaken by guilt. I wondered why she didn't think of the consequences _before_ she committed the crime.

I continued my diatribe. "Unseemly, intolerable, _shocking_—"

"You are not making me feel any better," she sobbed.

I pried into her mind, wanting to understand why she did these things.

It seemed to me that Esme was quite taken with her new self. She was strong and fast, and nothing could stop her. Her whole life, she had wanted things she could not have. An enrollment at Saint Xavier's, tickets to the theater, her very own sewing machine. She had wanted the baby too, but even that had been taken from her. (God, who would want a baby! This tells you the sort of madness I was dealing with.)

Now she could easily _take_ whatever she fancied.

The problem had escalated over the past several weeks. She came home first with small items, such as mail and still-damp laundry from clotheslines. Then it was a bicycle, a ladder, and a baby carriage. She'd stolen a horse two weeks ago.

"Please can I keep her?" she had moaned.

"Uh, actually this horse is a gelding," I'd pointed out helpfully, looking between its legs.

Carlisle had held Esme sweetly while he refused her. "No, darling. We've talked about taking things that are not ours. It's not our horse, and we must return him to the owners. Besides, the poor beast is terrified of us, and we haven't a proper pasture."

It was ridiculous how soft he was going. The way he used the subject pronoun _we_ and plural possessive _our_—like talking to a misguided child.

"But I love her! I named her Beauty."

"I know. That doesn't change the fact that he doesn't belong to you."

"No! You can't take her," Esme had argued. _Argued!_ With our sire! Had that been me, I would have been immediately bent over and examining my toes while he whaled away on my backside.

"There, there," he consoled her instead.

I had done some spying around the village and discovered who it was that was inexplicably missing a horse. The creature was so startled—its eyes rolling and hooves stomping sideways—I'd had to put a sack over its head.

And guess who had to return it to its stable that night.

Not _we_. Me.

I shook my head at the sailboat and clicked my tongue at the madwoman on the grass. "I'm sorry, Esme. But you must know what this means."

"_No,"_ she said silently to the ground.

"Esme," I called, achieving her attention. I tried very hard to straighten my face before I said it. "You're a pirate."

"No," she said again, shaking her head.

"Well, what do you call someone who steals a boat, hm?" I turned as though to leave and pressed my lips together briefly. "It was nice knowing you," I said over my shoulder.

Her head snapped up. "What do you mean?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, Carlisle is English. There is no leniency for freebooters in the London chancery."

"He's a nice man. He wouldn't—"

"He's a Brit. And he has the utmost respect for the law. _And_ he's a great advocate of capital punishment. For centuries pirates have been the bane of the English monarchy, and when a pirate is caught, she is hanged."

"But I've killed people, and he's not—"

"Those are marks against you. Yep, I'm afraid it's the gibbet for you, madam."

She was keening then, mourning her own demise.

I rambled, loud enough for her to hear. "Of course, he's not going to go through the trouble of building a scaffold, but there are lots of trees around—"

"Edward! You have to help me hide it!"

"Mm. All right." I made a show of looking around. "You can hide it in the bushes, I suppose." _What the hell?_ This female was dreadfully dense as well as mad.

She sighed. "Where can I hide it then?" she asked, wide-eyed as a spring lamb.

"Let me think about this. I'll be back in a moment." I strode off toward the shed.

"Where are you going?" she screeched.

"I need to get some rope."

"What for? We can't drag it. It would leave marks."

"Not for the boat, for the hanging."

"Edward!"

I ignored her and burst into the shed, doubled over, and gave in to my hilarity, laughing silently. After about two minutes of that, I rubbed my mouth with force until I was able to compose myself. Then I told myself that I mustn't think about what her face looked like when I told her she was a pirate, or I would blow my cover to Carlisle. Because something told me he would fail to see the humor in this.

* * *

CPOV

I had worked a double shift at the local surgery, caring for our overnight patients. It was dawn and I'd cleaned myself up and was heading home again.

I hoped Esme and Edward had been good during my hours away. They seemed to be getting along. I know my son was having trouble adjusting to having a new member in the family, but he took advantage of Esme's kindly instincts, as she would do anything for him, and I thought that Edward would have liked having an older sister.

And I must say, he'd done a smashing job keeping Esme out of trouble of late. There hadn't been any theft since the horse. The bloodshed...well that, thanks be to God, had slackened too. It was starting to feel more...traditional around here. Esme was fond of coddling Edward—

_What the devil!_

There was—_it's a_—there, on my property, was a vessel. For the water. On my lawn. A boat!

Well, someone is going to get paddled all right.

"Edward," I called, not quietly.

He came out to meet me, but I had no audible words for him. _"What is the meaning of this?"_

"She's gone and done it again," he said in a jumble. He raised his hands in innocence, most likely having heard my inner preliminary and keen to shove the blame somewhere else.

"_You're expecting me to believe that Esme nicked a boat?" _I asked.

He nodded. "She refuses to return it. Although how we do that without the neighbors seeing, I don't know. She's become very good at stealing things, Carlisle. I'm still not sure how she got it here without notice—"

"Where is she?" I cut him off, finally forming words.

"Uh...she's hiding."

"_Where...?"_ I started to track my mate's scent.

He inclined his head toward the watercraft.

I made my voice gentle. "Esme, love, come out. It's me. Carlisle. Come on out, darling." I found her huddled in the cabin. She didn't uncoil out of the fetal position, so I carried her out of the tilted interior as best I could then sat with her on the grass.

"Please forgive me. Please forgive me. Have mercy. Don't. Please don't—"

"Don't what, darling? You are safe." I turned to my son. "What is she going on about, Edward. Read her mind. Now."

But it was Esme that answered. "I don't want you to kill me."

I looked at Edward, who shrugged—a bit too innocently, with his hands in his pockets.

"Why would I kill you, Esme? I love you. It's not possible." I skimmed my nose along her cheekbone, taking in her scent. "Talk to me, love." I began to play with her hair, hoping she would unwind.

She was crying heartily, but managed a couple of deep breaths. "Edward told me that you would execute me. You would hang me. Because I—because I'm a..." The rest was unintelligible.

"A what?"

"I'm a pirate!" she blubbered.

Edward's frozen expression failed to hide his amusement. He snorted.

In all my years of existence, I could count on one hand the number of times I had wanted to hurt another being. I never imagined that having a son would cause that repressed violence to surface recurrently.

"Esme, listen to me now. I would never hurt you. No matter what you do, I will always love you and support you." I didn't feel it necessary to explain that she could not die by hanging. It seemed beyond the point.

I felt her body unclench.

"However, you must not take things that are not yours, love. If you want anything—anything at all—all you need to do is ask. I would buy you your own boat and name it the _HMS Esme._ I would buy you your own island, for God's sake! But this must stop now. We will figure out a way to return the sailboat. And that will be the end of it. Clear?"

She nodded and sniffed, gazing up at me from under her eyelashes.

Good. That was done.

"Edward," I bit the inside of my cheek and fixed the boy with a glare, "you will wait for me in my study. We need to chat."

"Why?" Esme curled around and asked.

I spoke to my mate while staring at Edward, who at least was ashamed enough to cast his eyes down towards his shoes. "He needs to understand that when I ask him to do something, I expect him to do it properly. And he knows better than to torment someone who needs help. Especially when that someone is my wife." The last word came out hard. "If he doesn't know better, then he must learn."

"Carlisle," Edward countered, "with all due respect, I was only trying to teach her a lesson. You said it yourself—she can't keep doing this. I thought if she suffered a bit more this time, then it might help her use more self-control next time."

I was well aware that Edward was repeating back to me my own reasoning—thought, not verbalized—when I found it required to correct his behavior.

"Thank you for being so considerate, but it's not your place to make anyone suffer. You are neither a constable nor a judge."

"Nor a father," Edward mumbled.

"Care to say that louder, son?" I held Esme tighter, to keep from taking the lad's head off.

"No, sir."

Esme pressed her cheek to my chest. "Don't whip him, Carlisle! I couldn't bear it."

"Darling, he was supposed to watch you. Furthermore, whether you realize it or not, he ridiculed you. That is no way to treat a lady."

"But it's not his fault that I stole it. It's not like he helped me. And, who knows? I might've done it even had he been with me."

"Yeah," Edward agreed with her.

"Carlisle, whip me instead."

_I'm sorry, what? Did my wife just ask me to thrash her?_ "No, Esme. I'm not Charles. I will not do it."

"Yes, Carlisle. I was wrong to steal. I knew that, but I wanted it and took it anyway. What's to stop me next time from stealing...a baby or something...?" Her voice trailed off. After casting about, her eyes turned firmly to mine. "Whip me, not him."

"No, Esme." This time it was Edward. "It's all right. He's not going to hurt me. He's got a tongue-lashing in mind, which is no cakewalk, but I'll live through it. And I'll keep a better eye on you from now on."

"I'll quit my job," I added hastily.

Esme stood up and pointed a finger that wagged between Edward and me. "Now you two listen to me. Carlisle, you were about to punish him for something _I_ did. I will not allow that. And Edward, I am not your responsibility. I can think for myself, and although I don't understand these new urges, they are mine, and I will learn, with your father's help, to fend them off."

It was then, looking into my wife's eyes—which were the color of the sunset, as the red from her last kill was still fading back into amber—that I knew she was not Edward's sister. She was a mother above all else, and she would mother me too, if I let her.

"Carlisle Cullen, you will meet me in your study." Then she turned on her heel and was gone. "We need to chat."

Edward and I looked at each other in incredulity.

"Stay here," I told him, and I followed my wife indoors.

* * *

**So. Do you want more?**

**Beta said that Edward sounds a bit UK. But she said that it reminds us that he is a "peculiar and affected boy." I think she's right. Is it troubling to you?**

**I don't even notice it anymore. See, I like my Carlisle British, and, well...like father like son, I suppose. I live with an Englishman, who tries very hard to be American. I am constantly correcting him, swinging him back to his origins. "No, don't say 'parking lot.' It's 'car park.' You are not going to the restroom, it's the loo!" And, to my utter horror, he attempted to grow a beard to rival the Duck Dynasty's chaps. That was until I persuaded him to trim it—**

**Why am I rambling? I must be lonely...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy Christmas!**

**Okay, so I figured out why Edward was SO peculiar and affected. I've been watching _Downton Abbey_ like a mad woman to get ready for the third season (which airs on January 6).**

**And if you're a Downton fan, you must find a clip of the crossover parody of _Downton Abbey_ and _Breaking Bad._ Freaking hilarious. Thomas, the beautiful gay but wicked footman, breaks open a tea bag to snort it. Lord Grantham comes in sporting a goatee and says, "Soon Downton Abbey will be kicking it with mad b_s and benjamins." It's just...brilliant.**

**Hey, thanks very much for the reviews and encouragement! ****I'll take you all with milk and sugar, please.**

* * *

EPOV

I kicked the toe of my shoe into the dirt, remembering Esme's so-called rescue. "Oh, whip _me,_ Carlisle," I mocked under my breath, resenting the memory of how impressed Carlisle had been with her self-sacrificing attitude.

What he wasn't considering was how I'd spent the whole night _making_ her contrite...which hadn't been easy. Where was the gratitude? Instead of thanking me, Carlisle intended on _spanking_ me. How fair was that?

Yeah, I'd told Esme he wasn't going to. That was in a hasty fit of concern for my father, who was panicking at her suggestion. Now I was starting to rethink my position.

The point is, during all of this chaos, I was thinking of Carlisle first. He ought to know that.

My father had told me to wait here, so I presumed he wasn't averse to my spying in on his study.

"Why are you suddenly feeling so overprotective of Edward?" Carlisle was asking. "I don't mistreat him." He was sitting on his desk, one leg dangling, arms crossed defensively.

"I don't know. He just looks so adorable in his suspenders," Esme gushed from her seat in front of him. "You mustn't be so hard on him. He's just a baby."

"I don't think I am. I don't think Edward thinks that I am."

"But you strike him..." she trailed off.

"I call it discipline. I give him consequences so that he will learn and do better." Carlisle looked down; he didn't like it any more than I did. "How did you know?"

"Edward told me." Esme stood up and rubbed his arm. Carlisle said nothing, but he noted the trace scent of seawater on her skin. "That's why I think that I need consequences too. I mean we've designated these roles to play and all that. Edward and I are your charges—brother and sister—and you are our guardian—"

"Edward was like a brother to me. A companion. He's since—being so young—taken to being my son, and I'm responsible for him. But you, Esme, are my equal. My mate. My lover."

"Who has behaved very badly." She held his gaze.

"Yes, well. I mentioned buying an island a moment ago. Perhaps we ought to consider finding an island to live on for a while. Just until this...trouble passes."

Esme shook her head. "Edward likes it here. I won't make him leave, and I know you want him with us as much as I do. Besides, what you do for him seems to work. He doesn't go around bumping people off or committing acts of piracy."

"No..." he faltered.

"Then do it."

Carlisle straightened with force. "You don't know what you're asking!" he said loudly, suddenly animated. "What happens in here with Edward is...a...necessary evil. It being necessary doesn't make it good. It is deserved, I will admit—"

"_I_ deserve it," Esme countered firmly.

"You don't understand how I've tried everything else with him. I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to be my father! That tyrant—" Carlisle abruptly lost his zeal. "I don't want to be like your brute of a husband either."

"You're not. You're nothing like either of those men. I'm sorry, Carlisle. I don't mean to upset you. I'm just...hoping to mend this." The mood in the study shifted with her gentle tone.

"What did you have in mind, dear?" My father, his head still bowed, cast his eyes up at her and smiled.

"Well...my father wasn't anything like Charles. He was a good man, who treated his wife with consideration and kindness. And he loved children. He played with us and told stories and sang. But you didn't cross him...or you ended up with a red behind."

I heard Carlisle chuckle. "And did that ever happen to you?"

"Maybe once or twice." She winked. "He took you out to the barn—so mother couldn't hear you crying—and when you came back, you couldn't sit for the rest of the day. He had a hard hand...and it was big, too." She had taken Carlisle's wrist in her fingers and was flipping his hand, front to back, judging its potential for harming naughty children.

"That sounds like a charming upbringing," he said, trying not to sound sarcastic, "but it's not so quaint what happens between me and Edward...even when he looks so adorable in his suspenders."

"Oh, and his hair. All those cowlicks..."

"Yes, _so_ adorable."

My father was beginning to change his mind about the whole brother-sister pretense. When Esme gave her speech and basically told us off and bossed him, he thought he understood then that she was my mother. All this _Edward-is-so-darling_ chat was backing that conclusion.

"Look, we need to figure out what to do with the swag out in the yard," Carlisle insisted.

"Mm," she hummed, uninterested in that quandary. "What does happen between you and Edward?"

"You want me to show you?" he asked, one side of his mouth curling.

_Oh, God._ He was flirting. How...disturbing.

"I think so. To defer any further unruliness. Oh, but isn't Edward in the yard?"

"I'll tell him to bugger off," he replied distractedly.

She let him take her wrist and twist it gently behind her back. Then, with a guiding hand on her opposite elbow, he steered her to the face of the desk. Reaching from behind Esme, he stretched his arm across to the other side, opened the top drawer, pulled out the coil of leather, and set it on the table surface, where it would be at her eye level.

He whispered directions while he manipulated her body. "I bend him over to rest on top the desk."

Uh, there is no _resting_ in that position, Esme, let me tell you.

Carlisle glided a hand from her back, over the curve of her seat, and down her thigh.

"Such a mean man," Esme purred.

"I'll show you mean, Esme Cullen. Steal something on my watch again..."

I tried to tune out when he got to the bit about undressing. _Gah!_ I thought I would gag. Talk about cruel. I wished he had spanked me, instead of leaving me to endure this shameful exhibition.

I wasn't sure if I was allowed to leave the property (he hadn't specifically told _me_ to "bugger off"), so I crawled into the boat. Something about the cramped cabin did make you want to curl up in the fetal position, so that was what I did.

"This is what you get when you misbehave," Carlisle was saying, as I pointlessly covered my ears.

"I'll never do it again," Esme moaned.

One thing was certain—_I must get these suspenders off._

CPOV

I hadn't meant to keep Edward out of the house all day.

"You sure did show her, Carlisle," Edward told me when I met him outside at nightfall.

"Shut your face," I said crossly. Feeling sorry for my rudeness, I softened my voice. "Will you help me, Edward? We need to return this beauty to the harbor where it belongs. It's not damaged is it?"

It took the two of us shouldering the vessel together to carry it back to the quay, Edward at the bow and me at the stern. Esme must have been extremely powerful to have transported it all those miles by land without help.

Edward continued to chatter on our way to the bay.

"It's just that—um, don't you think you ought to reconsider her proposition? I mean, do you really think she learned her lesson? I can read her mind, and let me tell you, there's not a lot of forethought going into this."

I let him go on acting like a complete cur, not saying a word. Why should I when he was so certain he was right in this situation? He ignored my annoyance and continued.

"I'm not a cur, Carlisle. And of course I'm right. I know you have doubts about her reformation." He smirked, looking back over his shoulder at me. "_And_ I know what you think. About _everything_. When you see a misbehaving child, you say to yourself, _Give him to me for four minutes, and I'll stop all that nonsense once and for all._ That's what's going on in your head. I can see through the benevolent physician's pacifist surface."

"Maybe so. I don't act on those thoughts, however, and Esme's not a child. Your reasoning is deficient."

"She's a newborn vampire. It's kind of the same. And you do act on those thoughts when _I_ misbehave. So what's the big deal? Esme needs a good spanking, and you happen to be just the man to give it to her. If you don't, what's going to stop her from turning into a bearcat that you can't control?"

"I'm not doing it, Edward. She's my wife, not my property. Let's leave it at that."

Immediately he caught my hypocrisy. "I must be your property then," he said with humor.

"You know what I meant."

"How could you do that to me, Carlisle? Especially when I'm so adorable." He looked back at me again and batted his eyelashes.

I rolled my eyes. He was so incorrigible at times.

"It goes over here," the boy said.

"Where?"

"Starboard side." He crooked his head at the empty space up ahead by the docks.

"Ah," I hesitated.

"I told you to leave your trench coat at home, Carlisle. You look swell. Really you do. But you don't always have to be a dandy."

I sighed. I didn't want to get my clothes wet. "Can we do this without getting in the water? What if we toss it?"

Edward agreed to try with me. I counted off in my head. _Ready, steady, go..._ We pitched the boat over our heads like a paper airplane and watched it sail elegantly through the air. When it landed in the water, however, it created two colossal waves on either side and all the boats bobbed and knocked against each other. I had to run about 50 meters back from the shore to keep my shoes from getting wet.

I thrust a knuckle under my nose but could not help the laughter that shook me. Edward, arms clutched around his gut, leaned into me as he laughed. Finally I slapped at his back with the back of my hand. "We need to get out of here. You just caused a tsunami."

"What do you mean _me_?" he stuttered in between guffaws. "It was your idea!"

We noticed a torchlight throwing its beams at the still sloshing bay and took off at full speed in the direction of home.

"We should have tied it," I called to Edward. "Should we go back?"

"Nah, the port authority will take care of it."

"I don't have any rope anyway," I said, shrugging.

"Speaking of rope... Why don't we go ahead with the hanging?" Edward asked when we had slowed. "It won't hurt her..."

"Oh, you would like that wouldn't you?" I couldn't help but grin. _My histrionic lad._

"You think it's funny too," he teased. "Can't you just picture it?"

I reached out quickly and smacked his left buttock. Edward's leg came up and he hopped a couple of steps, rubbing his haunch.

"Ow! I let you do that," he huffed.

"Mm-hmm," I half-heartedly agreed. It was my turn to smirk.

We were about a kilometer from home, when we heard an unfamiliar sound. Well, it wasn't un_known_—we knew very well what it was. In spite of that, we were unused to hearing it in the forest and it confused us momentarily.

The sound was a baby crying.

There was another noise too—another crying.

It was Esme.

"_Is that what I think it is?"_ I must have asked silently.

Edward confirmed, eyes tight. "It's hungry," he whispered.

I cursed. "Bloody hell."

* * *

**Keep calm and carry on. )**


	3. Chapter 3

Edward POV

We stepped cautiously into the dark house and found Esme shushing one tiny hysterical newborn.

"Please help," Esme sobbed. "I can't make him stop crying!"

Without pausing, Carlisle took the infant and expertly tucked it into the crook of his left arm. He used a finger to gently swipe at the skin around its lips. Even with its eyes screwed up in outrage, it turned and caught the vampire's finger in its mouth and began sucking the tip. It made an angry face at the unexpected coolness, but its mouth soon warmed it up.

"This won't soothe him for long. I'll need to go fetch some milk from the hospital," my father said.

Esme took the baby back, but it still held on to Carlisle's finger as though its life depended on it. Then, as he had predicted, its sucking noises turned more desperate, almost furious. Soon it let go and began to wail again.

And so did Esme.

I thought it was smart of God to make small humans so noisy. If I'd had a baby I would be prone to make it wait for the things it wanted, teach it patience, but there seemed to be no ignoring a hungry infant. It acted like it was starving, even though I knew it wasn't in pain. Just an empty belly. I was sort of disappointed to think that I used to be one of these seething creatures. So ridiculous. It was grimacing at us, as if to frighten us into compliance, but it had no teeth. _You are not scary at all, little human,_ I told it silently.

Carlisle caught my eye and used his thoughts to communicate. _"Is she safe with him? She won't hurt it, will she?"_

I shook my head. Esme was too besotted with it to hurt it. And she had fed recently.

"Give me the blanket," he said to Esme.

"But he will be cold—"

"Just give it!" he shouted and Esme jumped. He'd not raised his voice at her before. She shifted the child and handed him the soft quilt.

Down on his knees, he spread the blanket out on the rug and folded it once. His arms reached up for the baby and Esme gave it to him. Carlisle laid the infant kicking and flailing onto the blanket. Then restraining its limbs, he wrapped and tucked until it was bound completely. _Swaddling_, he called it in his head. The baby appeared absolutely furious to be denied the use of its arms. I know I would have been.

He handed the red-faced, boisterous bundle back to Esme. "Rock him. Don't shake him, just bounce lightly."

I rolled my eyes. He was mostly stating these directions for me since Esme already knew how to care for a baby. I didn't know much about babies, but I knew not to shake it, for God's sake!

While Esme struggled to calm the baby, I continued to study it. I stuck my fingertip in its mouth, amazed by the powerful suction it created, but the baby wasn't fooled twice and cried again.

Carlisle continued to spout directions. "Keep the lights off, and he will hopefully fall asleep. I'll be back as soon as I can and we will sort this out." He hesitated. "Esme? I need to know before I leave...where did you get this child?"

She sniffed. "From a house in the village."

He didn't speak at first. He turned as though to leave but instead kicked a trunk across the room. Then he chased it and finished kicking it all to pieces, all the while clutching chunks of his hair. Esme froze. She'd not seen him so reactive before. _I_ had not seen him so reactive before! Although I threw tantrums regularly, my father wasn't the type to resort to histrionics. Esme was frightened of him.

I wasn't worried, though. The good thing about Carlisle was that he'd been around so long that he viewed all troubles as transitory. Give it a couple of days or maybe even a year, and things would change. Things always changed.

In a small voice, Esme explained, "There are lots of babies in the village." She was acting like this one wouldn't be missed, but even Esme knew she was stretching it.

Her indifference made him angry, and yet he swallowed it—not without some inner persuasion.

He stayed on the other side of the room. "That was bad, Esme." He even raised a reprimanding finger. "Bad girl. Very bad." He flexed his jaw. "Bad."

Had he not been on the verge of breaking down, I would have laughed. He thought scolding would correct her annoying habit? She was a newborn vampire, not a border collie. You'd have thought that putting up with me would have taught him something about behavior modification in young vampires.

Carlisle was speaking to me with his thoughts again. _"Please keep the child safe, Edward. She must not bite it. If she does, we will have to destroy it, or it could ruin us. This is most important. Do you understand?"_

I nodded.

"And, for the record, you may not torture Esme whilst I'm away. I will take care of it myself when I come home."

"Okay," I said aloud, "but for the record, let it also be known that I, Edward Cullen, have never stolen a _person_ before—"

He held up a hand. "That's fine, son. Thank you for stating the facts. I needed that."

Then he was gone.

Esme lifted the baby on her shoulder. She paced the floor at a human speed, patting its back and hushing it. Feeling left out, I sat at the piano and played a quiet lullaby.

Esme smiled at me. "Thank you, Edward. That's lovely."

The baby finally cried itself to sleep while she sang over its head, which had finally turned a normal color again.

It was sad how much she loved the little wretch. Even I felt bad about it, knowing that she would have to give it back. There was much more affection here than she'd had for the stolen gramophone and even the gelding, Beauty. My personal favorite had been the sailboat, and so I didn't quite understand the attraction with the baby. It didn't even have any hair.

"Isn't he sweet, Edward?" Esme cooed.

"When it's sleeping," I quipped. I thought I'd read somewhere that newborns slept twenty hours out of the day. That was good, I thought. Or was it lions that I read about? Perhaps it's both.

Esme sighed and sat down. "What's he going to do to me?" she asked, thinking of Carlisle. "How will he execute me for this?" She must have caught on finally that he wasn't going to off her, because her tone was slightly ironic.

"You're in big trouble this time, Esme," I informed. I wasn't allowed to torture her, but I thought it was in her best interest that I remind her how serious this was.

"He can't fault me for loving this child."

"No, he can't." I spoke slowly and distinctly. "But it's not _your_ child. You stole it. It's called kidnapping."

She didn't say anything, but I read her thoughts.

"You know it's wrong!" I shouted, and she looked away. I don't why, but I reverted to my own bad habit: sarcasm.

"Congratulations, Esme. You have officially upset Carlisle Cullen. Tipped him over the edge."

"Don't wake the baby," she whispered harshly.

"Do you know how hard it is to distress him? I know, because I've had a couple of years to perfect the technique. I thought I cornered the market on that accomplishment, but you surpassed even my best record. You win!"

"Keep your voice down!"

"For the past couple of months, I've kept wondering what he saw in you, Esme. Now I know what kind of woman Carlisle fancies. A kidnapping, looting, mindless, murdering pirate."

Now, I am a mind reader, but I admit that sometimes I am too caught up in the sound of my own voice to perceive danger to my own person. This was one of those instances.

Somehow, without disturbing the sleeping baby, she grabbed hold of my ear and twisted until my body was contorted at a debilitating angle. My head was below my waist. My mouth hung open in a silent "Ow!"—only silent because the pain was beyond vocalizing. She dragged me to a corner of the room and yanked me down to sit on the floor—hard.

"You will not speak to me like that, Edward Masen Cullen. Not if you don't want your mouth smacked for back talk. I am your father's wife and you will treat me with respect or your father will hear about it when he gets home."

I swallowed venom. "Yes, moth—uh, I mean ma'am," I said, suddenly subdued.

"You are not to move from that corner until I say so, and I do not want to hear your mouth again unless I ask you a question. Understand?"

"I understand," I repeated.

"I am not stupid and I know when you are making fun of me. It will stop now!"

Fine! Add _lunatic_ to that list of attractive womanly traits. I would be having a long talk with Carlisle when he got home.

* * *

CPOV

The milk was in powdered form, but I didn't want to risk being seen mixing it at the hospital, so I grabbed the box and crept around in the shadows, avoiding the night nurse. Whilst I was at it, I swiftly nicked a bottle, two rubber nipples, and a stack of nappies. It occurred to me that I had descended to stealing things, which was precisely what landed me in this rubbish to begin with.

When I arrived home, the small lad was stirring from his kip, but not yet crying. The tall lad with the hair was sitting surly in the corner, quiet for once. What that was about, I couldn't guess, but I chose to leave him there for the time being.

I began to fill the kettle—which I didn't know we owned—with water from the pump. I think Esme had swiped the kettle from one of our unfortunate neighbors, but I was nonetheless happy to have it during this crisis. Placing it on the big stove and lighting the hob, I left it to shake a bit of formula into the bottle. I wanted this ready before the poor thing started to cry again. Nothing seemed so urgent as when an infant was screaming.

I paused to regard my wife, who looked so blissful, humming in the baby's ear and nuzzling its fuzzy head as it made small animal noises. I was looking forward to a talk that I wouldn't relish—not at all. For one fleeting moment—a split second of madness—I considered letting her keep the baby. Edward jerked his head around to face me. _I don't mean it,_ I told him. _Stray thought. Ignore me._

"Carlisle?" It was Esme.

"Yes, dear."

"I think the baby's cold."

"Edward," I called, "will you make us a fire." He didn't answer me but seemed content to rise from the corner where he had been sulking. He looked pitifully at Esme.

"You may leave the corner now, Edward," she said. Ah, so Esme had put him in the corner. _Huh._ Well, I would have to see about that later.

I tossed him the box of matches and watched him build a small pyre in the furnace grate. "Be careful please," I cautioned before he struck the light.

I finished making the bottle, checking the temperature of the liquid before handing it to Esme. The infant seemed to fall asleep, still lazily swallowing the warm milk, but it became fully alert once the bottle was sucked dry. Its ocean-blue eyes looked wise beyond its age...and slightly concerned. Edward had a fire roaring within minutes and was tearing off strips of newspaper and feeding them mechanically to the flames, making me nervous.

"Esme, love. We need to talk about this."

The baby began to fuss again. Esme patted its back.

"It's uncomfortable," Edward told us. "The baby, I mean, needs to be changed. It's wet."

"Carlisle," Esme said, disregarding that information, "we don't need to talk about it. Do you see how lovely it is? Our little family..."

"This baby is not ours. There is a mother out there who is going to go out of her mind when she wakes up and finds him gone...if she's not discovered he's missing already."

"But she can have another baby—"

"Esme, no," I raised my voice to be heard over the screeching. "You know what it feels like to lose a child."

"Oh, for the love of God!" Edward blurted. He came between us and snatched the newborn from Esme's arms, whilst she hesitated to consider my argument.

I continued to drive my point home. "How could you inflict that loss on another? I don't believe you have it in you."

Edward was meanwhile extracting the child from its wrappings.

"I don't mean to hurt anybody. I only—I _want_ this baby. More than anything. It's a—a _craving_ I can't control. You must understand these new...appetites. He's mine now. I've already named him Carlisle."

I slapped my palm to my forehead then leaned my head back against the sofa.

"Uh—" We heard Edward's confusion. "Actually, Esme, Carlisle Junior here is a girl." Brows furrowed and determined, he had removed the baby's soaked nappy and held her up to dry in front of the fire so we could see for ourselves.

"Oh...a girl..." Esme murmured, with bemusement and—did I imagine it?—distaste.

I offered Edward the hospital cloths from my coat pocket, but Esme took them out of my hand. "Here, Edward. I'll change her diaper. I know how to do it."

"I like the name Emily," Edward said unhelpfully.

Esme efficiently swathed and pinned and re-bundled the baby girl. "No, you're right, Carlisle. We need to return her to her nursery right away."

"Attagirl," I breathed, relieved that Esme was finally coming back to her senses. I stood up from the sofa. "Let's go now. Do you remember the house she belongs to?"

The infant was grasping Edward's finger and trying to fit it in her mouth.

"You know," he told her, "a temper like yours isn't becoming for a girl. You ought to get that under control before you grow up. Not everybody will be able to read your mind. " She started to whine when Edward's finger and her mouth refused to cooperate. "Use your words, baby," he commanded.

I couldn't help but smile, hearing my son quote my oft-recited instruction: _"Before you destroy a national forest in your rage, talk to me about what made you angry. Use your words, Edward."_

He raised his eyebrows at me and shrugged. Then to the baby he said a hasty farewell. "Have a nice life, Carlisle Junior. It's been swell."

"Watch the fire for me, Edward," I directed. I added another non-verbal request. _When it's safely put out, would you mind going elsewhere? I will be lighting another fire of sorts, and I suspect you might want to be out of doors when that happens._

He nodded solemnly.

I squeezed Esme's elbow, she clutched the infant tighter, and we three took off towards town.

* * *

**This was written whilst I wore sunglasses, because my right eye is suddenly red and painful and sensitive to light. And I think I messed up my ankle running through the snow in my Wellies. And my arse hurts, but I don't want to say why. I think that ends my list of complaints.**

**Writing is both anguish and rapture. I happily suffer for you who so generously prod and praise me.**

**I know that I ought to be writing this to please myself, but I am actually writing it for YOU! Please let me know if you are pleased or not. *batting eyelashes and being adorable, but not wearing suspenders***


	4. Chapter 4

Edward POV

"Blech! Blah!" I sputtered and spat.

After Carlisle and Esme left the house, I had thrown water on the fire. When I'd returned the kettle to the stove I noticed the box of evaporated milk formula there. Being curious, I had licked my finger, stuck it in the powder, and thrust it into my mouth.

It was foul and dry and revolting. With no one around to watch, I rubbed my tongue on the tails of my shirt and sucked my thumb a bit to get rid of the taste.

The milk reminded me of porridge, which took me to the old fable about Goldilocks and the Three Bears. It was kind of like what happened earlier this evening. The girl didn't have gold locks, or any locks at all actually, and we three were vampires, not bears. But we did live in the woods. I suppose that would make me the baby bear... That thought made me jerk the thumb out of my mouth pretty damn quick. All right, so there was no comparison, but this was how the current circumstances had made my mind spin idly.

What was going to happen here in moments created shifting emotions in me. Yeah, I was cross with Esme for ordering me around and making me sit in the corner like a small child. But the thieving habit _was_ funny. If Carlisle lightened up a bit, he would see that.

Of course, she couldn't go abducting nurslings from the village. That was a law even I'd heard about. The Volturi put a swift end to vampires who tried to keep children.

That was why Carlisle would put a stop to her foxtrot before Esme took it too far. Although, in his opinion, she'd _already_ taken it too far. Why she wanted a baby, I didn't know. Hadn't she called me a baby just yesterday? Was I not _enough_ of a baby for her? Never mind. Don't answer that.

I pulled cash out of a drawer in Carlisle's room, although I wasn't sure I would need it. Not like I was going to the public house for a drink or anything like that, even if it hadn't been for Prohibition. Also in the drawer I saw the keys to my father's automobile, which was parked in a garage in town...

Carlisle had asked me to be gone when he got back, and of course, I would oblige. But I didn't want to be _too_ far away. I mean, despite our conflicts, this was _Esme_. Notwithstanding my sarcasm and all the trouble she's caused...well, she's genuine...and sweet. But don't tell her I said so. She was completely smitten with Carlisle, and the way she felt about me...

God, I can't believe Carlisle was going to be doing this without asking for my advice and opinion. As much as I hated to admit it, I just didn't want to see either of them hurt. I abandoned the keys, pocketed the cash, and ran into the woods.

Perching high in a hemlock tree, I heard Mama and Papa Bear come home. Cheerily, Esme flashed over to her knitting basket, sat in the rocker, and began to work the needles together as fast as rain. She was making me a pair of socks.

"Esme," Carlisle said, earning a brilliant smile from his wife.

"Yes, dear?"

"Darling, we need to talk."

Here we go.

"Yes," said Esme, laying down the knitting before her voice turned grave. "I need to talk to you about your son."

Oh, damn.

"Oh?" Carlisle was taken aback. "Well, yes, we can talk about Edward, but—"

"Carlisle, his manners are atrocious."

"No, dear—I mean...well, yes, you're probably right." Carlisle scratched at the back of his head. "I have tried to teach him better, but that's not what we need to talk about—"

"The way he speaks to me sometimes is unacceptable. I will not have it in my house, Carlisle. This must be corrected."

The clicking began again at an even faster rate. At this speed, my socks would be finished in about three minutes. _Click, click, click, click, click, click, click._ It was as though time sped up. I was seeing my life flash before my eyes, as my father sealed my fate in his mind. I held my breath and heard the faraway shrill cry of a hawk.

"He was completely out of line after you left for the hospital earlier this evening."

_Why that shrew!_ She was making it worse! I hoped Carlisle would give it to her and give it to her good.

"That's why he was in the corner?"

"Precisely. I told him I would smack his mouth unless he shut it."

"Well, I wish you wouldn't do that, but I do understand that Edward can push even the most tolerant to the limits of their composure." He clasped his hands under his chin and leaned forward to meet Esme's eyes. "All right. I promise that I will get to the bottom of that later. However, Edward is not here at the moment, and what I wanted to talk to you about is this incident with you and the baby." In an attempt to simultaneously capture her full attention _and_ lighten the mood, he rested a hand on her knee and smirked. "Drop the weapons, please, ma'am."

Esme sighed heavily and quit knitting again.

"I know. I'm so sorry...I guess we need to go ahead with what we talked about yesterday."

"So you do feel that way too?"

She nodded, resolute. "Yes. Something must be done about me. I can't quite describe what's going on...I want things!" She made a fist and thumped her thigh while biting her bottom lip. "I want..._so bad_..."

"Oh, darling." He cupped her chin and kissed her forcefully. "You are happy with me?"

"Yes! Oh, yes. I love my life with you and Edward..."

Except for my atrocious manners, it would seem.

"...It's nothing like that. I don't know what comes over me! I used to be mostly cautious."

I scoffed on my branch. _Yeah, that was until you jumped off a cliff, Esme...and I do believe you met Carlisle after having fallen out of a tree..._

"I understand. But that doesn't make it right. You can't do whatever you want. I realize that this is hard to believe, that you feel invincible, but there are laws for vampires, and the consequences for breaking those laws are dire." Carlisle was thinking how grateful he was that Esme was such a good thief. It wouldn't do for the village to be gossiping about an overly pale woman with red eyes stealing children from their bedrooms and possessions from front porches. "And I cannot lose you." He nodded firmly. "That's why I will do this, and it is most important that it is effective."

Esme giggled, kicked off her shoes, and straddled his lap. "Oh, and what do you prescribe that will be most effective, Dr. Cullen?" She nuzzled his neck while she unknotted his necktie.

"Er—no, Esme. I don't mean—" He took a deep breath.

"Mmmmmm..."

"Keep it in your pants, Cullen," I whispered to the treetops.

He was trying his hardest not to be distracted. He grabbed her above the elbows and shook her lightly. "Stop it. I need to punish you, love. The demonstration yesterday was confusing, I know. I shouldn't have done that. But this is serious."

"Oh," she mumbled, embarrassed. She slid off his lap, and he stood up.

"Let's go to my study."

"Carlisle, no." She shook her head, eyes anxious.

"Yes, love. I must—"

"No, I know you do. But what you showed me in there...with the strap and the desk..."

"Yes...?"

"I won't be able to hold still."

"I'll make you stay still."

"No, I mean if you do that to me, I _will_ fight you. I can feel it. I'm quite strong, you know."

"Yes, I know that, dear. I will require that you not fight me."

"I don't know if I can help it! I would hate myself if I hurt you."

"Hmmm..." With that, Carlisle realized what she was trying to tell him. She was much stronger than him and much less in control of her impulses. Although willing to submit here and now while she did not feel any danger to her self, she wasn't certain what would happen when her body was presented to pay for her crime...she didn't know how she would react when she was in pain.

"I hear what you're saying, and I thank you for helping me to understand. This is what we're going to do..."

I knew the dignified thing for me to do at this point would be to give them their privacy, but I couldn't tear my mind's eye away from the scene. I could imagine what my father would say if he knew I was spying—"Edward, this doesn't concern you." But it _did_ concern me, I thought.

"Stay here," he told her.

I stayed where I was as well, still and watchful.

* * *

CPOV

As I rummaged in Edward's space under the stairs, I thanked God that I had worked out my anger during the clandestine trip to the hospital nursery. I was ready to do what needed to be done, but I wasn't angry with Esme, and for that, I was grateful.

To be truthful, I hadn't been cross with Esme at all. The anger was directed at myself. I had not given Esme the attention she needed, or not dealt with the situation appropriately, or..._something_. Moving on, I'd accepted my faults and felt ready to make it right.

Finally I found Edward's pocketknife in a pair of trousers he'd carelessly slung over a chair back. I hurriedly returned to Esme and flipped open the knife.

She startled. "What's this?"

"Incentive to hold still and not fight." When I sensed that she was frightened, I added, "I want you to go cut a switch."

Esme's shoulders slumped and she groaned dramatically. "Oh, no! I _hate_ being switched. I loathe, detest, and despise it!"

I knew that. She'd told me how her mother had switched her and how miserable she'd been. "Then it will make the ideal deterrent," I assured her.

With an annoyed noise, she grabbed the knife and ran out the door. She was back in two seconds with her offering. I accepted it and gave it a few decent swipes, cutting the air. Esme cringed at the movement and the whistling sound it made. It was quite wieldy...thin and daunting. I had to hand it to her; the woman knew how to cut a proper switch.

"Thank you. Now if you become unruly, I can snap you back in line with a couple of lashes from this. Are you still up for it?"

She grinned wonky at me and blinked. "Yes... That is, _if_ you can catch me." Then she was gone.

Oh, blast it.

Now I wished I hadn't sent Edward away. He would have been able to catch her. But as soon as I thought that, I heard a _thunk_ from up above my head. Ah, she was in the attic. I wouldn't have to go far after all.

How _had_ she managed to get up there? I wondered, because I knew that she hadn't used the trap door in the ceiling. That was what I did, but when I pulled the chain, I was in for a shock. I'd expected the dust, but not the heap of loot that fell down with the door, almost on my head. I sidestepped the messy pile of things and warily climbed the ladder, pulling myself into the dark area below the rafters. The last time I'd been up here, it had been nearly empty. Now the attic was filled to the brim...with other people's belongings, I assumed.

Esme snickered from behind a wardrobe, and I clumsily took off after her, the problem being all the stuff in the way. She ran and squealed like a mouse, scurrying off through a tunnel created by the severe slant of the roof and the objects of furniture and things that lined the way. When I was unable to grasp her foot, I crawled after her on my hands and knees, watching her cute bottom wiggle just ahead of me. Esme didn't wear knickers and knowing that made the view that much more sensuous. I still held the switch in one hand and considered swiping at her with it. When the space cleared and I could stand on my feet again—ducking to keep my head from hitting the roof—I grabbed her firmly around the waist. She laughed and kicked her legs, her feet coming off the floor.

I couldn't help but laugh as well, even though I recognized that we were making this fun and that just wouldn't do.

We had come to a corner of the attic in which a Victorian-style sofa was angled, and I sat down roughly with Esme in my lap. Her hair was bobbed under her ears, making her look more mischievous girl than grown woman. She blew out a breath that fanned her bangs.

"Did you steal all these things?" I asked, shifting her to sit by my side.

"Yeah," she confirmed. I was curious to learn how Edward didn't know about this, but then she continued. "I kind of forgot all about it until now."

I stood up and she followed suit. Rubbing the back of my head, I surveyed what I could see of books and benches and even a birdcage. I also saw the stained glass window, which I thought had been painted shut, removed from its frame near the eaves and leaned against the wall. "I'm glad you showed me," I said.

She nodded soberly, her smile fading with fear. "Now?" she asked, pointing her nose at the switch in my hand.

"Yes. Please don't make me chase you again. And since you did run, I will have to make an impression. Turn around and lift your skirt."

With a heart-rending frown, she did that, sniffling a bit. I tapped the end of the switch to the lower curve of her buttock. She was trembling with eyes tightly closed. I dropped the switch and waited.

"If you try anything like that again, Esme Cullen, I will use the switch." I hoped that this last-minute reprieve would keep her from making trouble.

She let her skirt fall and looked at me over her shoulder. "But if I don't, you won't whip me?"

"I'm going to give you a sound spanking, over my knee, and with my hand. It will do the trick, I feel confident. But if you want to fight me or run away or struggle, we will try it the other way."

"Oh, Carlisle!" She turned and clung to my neck. "What a relief!"

Edward had certainly never said anything like that when I told him what he would be getting. It was quite sweet, and I held her head under my chin. I didn't want to hurt her, of course, but I made myself think of what would happen if Esme's bad habit caught the attention of the locals...and ultimately my old mates in Volterra.

I patted her hair. "All right, that's fine. Let's get down to business, love." I took her by the hand and walked to the sofa. I sat and settled Esme on my right knee. Then I rolled up my sleeve.

"I want to make certain that you understand why this is necessary."

"I do. I take things that aren't mine."

"That's a start. Taking things that aren't yours is wrong. When you took that child that didn't belong to you, you came quite close to making an irreparable mistake."

"Because she was a girl," Esme interrupted.

_Honestly?!_ "No, Esme. Because if you had bitten her, it would have been tragic for her family and dreadful for you. Biting a child is the absolute worst crime in vampire law. You would have been executed—_really_ executed—had that happened, and my life would be over."

Esme gasped.

"Yes. I want you to think about that whilst you are over my knee."

I lowered her facedown over my opposite thigh and slid her skirt up so that the half of her body that touched mine was bare and vulnerable. Her legs were up in the air and crossed at the ankle. I rested the switch on the sofa by her head. I smoothed my hand over her uncovered bottom, giving her a moment to think about this positioning, and to my surprise, she laughed.

"Is this funny, Mrs. Cullen?"

"No, no. Not what's going to happen...but I am seeing something funny." She giggled.

"Tell me."

"Well, it's that, from the waist up, I'm dressed nicely and my hair is styled—like a perfectly proper lady. Very respectable. But from the waist down, I'm naked and my backside is raised for a tanning—like a naughty child."

After showing me photographs from a magazine, Esme had sent me off to purchase these clothes for her. The skirt came to the knee, like the style of the day, and the blouse was collared with a low v-shaped neck. "I think you look very smart in this outfit, by the way," I said, "but without clothes is even better."

Esme, looking back at me, teased me with a smile. "Carlisle Cullen, if I were upright, I would slap your face for being fresh. "

I was thankful that, despite what it sounded like, she was being friendly still. "And you are also a perfectly proper criminal, who is due her penalty. So let's begin. I want you to grasp the arm of the sofa and don't let go—"

"Carlisle, wait!"

"What is it?"

"Have you ever spanked a girl before?"

"No, but I'm sure it's quite the same."

"It's not. Our heinies are much more sensitive."

"Are you trying to get me to go easy on you?"

"Well—"

I raised my hand and let it fall for the first satisfying smack, cutting off her commentary. _Sorry, love. Once I've got you over my knee, you don't get to tell me what to do._

As I began spanking in rhythm, I felt Esme tense over my lap. She seemed to be trying to bury her face into the sofa cushion. I pressed my left hand into her back when I noticed she was using her arms to try to lift up. I didn't follow a pattern but let my palm fall randomly, covering the area efficiently and occasionally smacking the same spot twice in a row.

Esme snarled and came up suddenly, the switch in hand, her eyes ablaze with fire. She breathed rapidly through her teeth with residual growling. I would never admit it to Edward, but she looked every bit a pirate and worse. I knew I couldn't flinch at her attack, and I couldn't look unsettled. Instead, I fixed her with a glare and cocked an eyebrow. _What are you going to try, Mrs. Cullen?_

Still on the offensive, her nostrils flared, and she growled at me. "Stop me from doing this—please! Hit me with this." She thrust the switch at me, her arm rigid, her will power struggling against her newborn vampire instincts.

Without pause I took the switch, wrapped my arm around her middle, and fell to the floor on my knees. I threw her over my thighs, held her securely to my abdomen, pushed up the skirt, and thrashed her smartly with the stick half a dozen times. She screamed in the back of her throat as the switch fell, the end of it wrapping and flicking the not-so-fleshy sides of her hips.

I tossed the stick to the floor and continued where I'd left off, spanking with my hand. Esme beat her fists on the floorboards.

"Sssstings!" she cried. Indeed, my hand and her bottom were blazing.

It was one of the hardest things I'd ever done, to follow through with that punishment until she was blubbering. It didn't seem right that I, who wanted to give her whatever her heart desired, would be causing her such considerable pain. Had she only bloody asked _me_ for those things! But she hadn't; she took them. The thought left me feeling powerless. If spanking her gave me back some semblance of power and control, then so be it.

But there was one thing I could not give her. She wanted a baby—a son for the one she lost. At that thought, a wail of lament caught in my throat.

I stopped the drubbing and leaned over to kiss her hurts. I lifted her a bit and unfolded my legs. Then I grabbed her under the arms, raised her to my chest, and carried her back to the sofa.

As I embraced and rubbed, her back and chest heaved with sobs...too long for my taste, and I was terrified that I'd hurt her emotionally as well as physically. I said her name again and again. "Esme. Love? Can you speak? It's finished. I want to talk to you about something..."

When she was ready at last, she lifted her eyes to mine, her breath hitching.

"I can't give you a child, Esme. It's beyond my power. I would give you anything at all, but I can't give you that—I'm so sorry, darling. I'm sorry for your loss...for all your pain—"

She caressed my face with her hand. "Carlisle, stop. Shhh. It's all right. I know what it is that I want. And I know now that I already have it. I had it all along."

"What is it?" I asked, almost afraid.

"A kind, caring, sensitive husband who adores me, and who just so happens to be exceedingly handsome, fast, and strong."

"Is that all?" My grief started to lift and I actually smiled.

"And...a talented, intelligent, adorable son, of whom I can be proud."

"Edward," I whispered, awed. The son she wanted.

"Yes," she nodded, smiling. "The son who reminds me so much of his father, even if he forgets his manners once in a while."

I grinned as big as if I'd just gotten the news—"It's a boy!" All that was missing was my cigar.

I knelt down and took her hand and kissed it. "Esme. My lover. My mate. My equal."

"I could never be your equal, Carlisle Cullen. You have no equal."

I gazed up at her in fondness and respect. "Consider your man in her majesty's service. From now on, I'm not taking my eye off you." I wagged my finger at her. "And if you ever steal anything again, your highness, I will blister your backside until it glows."

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**Author notes:**

**Before you ask, yes, I know that I am making this fun and that it will not do. Sorry! This sort of situation is scary to me; the only way I could deal with it was to make it comedic. And if you don't think it's funny at all ... well then, I missed the mark, and I apologize.**

**Oh, yeah. I don't think vampire hair can grow, so I know it's not right that Esme's hair is short ... but I wanted her to look like a fashionable 1920s woman. Hope you aren't bothered by my deliberate discrepancy.**

**I share (steal) things from Cumor's world, but she knows about it and gives me permission. She also took the time to give me an informative lesson on canes, which sadly can't be used on vampires (not the wooden ones anyway—wooden _canes_ not wooden vampires). So I took my new information and applied it to switches. And thus I refer you to sisterglitch's chapter 7 of Trespass.**

**So, who is fed up with Edward? What shall we do to him?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Well, friends. This is the end.**

**When I started this tale, I never imagined it would end up turning into an episode of Hoarders. Sorry for making you wait for the conclusion of Esme the Artful Dodger; I hope you will find it entertaining, and I very much appreciate you taking the time to read.**

**Those of you who reviewed the last chapter had dissimilar wishes for Edward ... and so I had to figure a way to somehow satisfy all of you, and I very much doubt that I succeeded. This was the intention, however, and I hope it's the thought that counts.**

**A note about underwear in the 1920s: panties looked more like silky boxer shorts, but they could be quite pretty and lacy. You can do a Google image search, if you're interested.**

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Edward POV

"Blimey! This is a lot of plunder."

Esme and I met Carlisle's mild curse with a duet of laughter. I'd tried to fix my lips together, but when I saw Esme covering her mouth with her hand, I couldn't help myself.

"What?" he demanded of us, hands on hips.

Esme nudged me with her elbow.

"Blimey," I repeated, amused. Carlisle noted that the position of my nose was rather elevated on this day.

"No one says that, darling," Esme laughed at him. "Unless they're from...I don't know...Wales, I suppose."

"Well, I say it."

"Blankety-blank!" I mocked, using what I guessed was a Gloucestershire accent. "Me wench's summat of a freebooter so 'old on tight ter yer goods, men—ah!"

This brilliant bit of playacting earned me a stinging lash across the side of my thigh from the switch that Carlisle happened to be carrying under his arm. In case you're wondering, yes, it was the same switch that Esme had cut for him. For whatever reason—I suspected he had gone mad—Carlisle was holding on to that blasted stick. My human father used to break the damn things when he was finished with them, but my current patriarch was suspiciously attached to this one. It seemed he was developing a partiality for implements of corporal punishment. That was just...swell.

I inwardly cursed myself for not catching his decision to let fly (_Blimey!_). I'd managed to miss most of his swings thus far...unless I was running my mouth and not paying attention.

Having succeeded in landing a hit, Carlisle grinned. I fumed.

"That's enough with the pirate talk, young man."

Along with the switch, Carlisle held a list cataloguing each item of ill-gotten gains and to whom it belonged.

"All right, love," he said to Esme. "That accounts for everything, unless you can think of anything else we might have missed...?"

She peeked at the paper. "No, darling. I believe that's all."

He was being awfully organized about the whole thing. I'd never seen him use a list before, but he did intend to turn the process over to Esme and me once it was put straight, and I supposed we wanted to be thorough about it.

It was indeed _a lot of plunder._

Little did Carlisle know, but that day when he laid down the law—when Esme tried to run and hide up here in the attic amidst her trove—I'd been sitting in a conveniently located tree and was in a position to throw a large branch on the roof, tipping him off to her whereabouts. I hadn't even known about all this stuff, which just goes to show you how empty Esme's brain can be.

_Did I say that out loud? No. Oh, good._

It was easy to forget that I was the only mind reader in the house...especially since Esme was becoming quite adept at predicting my behavior. She knew when I was rolling my eyes at her, even if I was turned away! Developing eyes in the back of her head, as they say.

This was not good for Edward. Not at all. Carlisle used to let me get away with a whole lot of outbursts and insolence...but not anymore. Those days of irreproachability had gone the way of the corset.

After Esme told on me, I got hauled over the coals by my father. I had thrown away my last straw, so he warned me. Any further disrespect, and I would be seriously regretting my lack of self-control. "I will kill you," he had said out loud, "if you don't watch your mouth around her." Fortunately I could see into his head, and I knew that he only meant that I would wish I were dead.

In addition to dodging the switch, I was being subjugated to her highness with the wine-colored eyes. Mrs. Cullen and I were going together to return all the pirated loot to the victims of our village.

"Even the gramophone, Carlisle? I want to keep that."

"We already have one, Edward."

"But I would like one for my room."

"Then we will put the one we already have in your room," he muttered, basically ignoring me.

I opened an armoire and pulled out the inside drawer. It was full of ladies' _unmentionables_. Esme didn't even wear underclothes...a fact that for knowing made me want to die. (Perhaps I ought to let Carlisle kill me.)

Finding a decorative pair of panties, I surreptitiously regarded the lace. _Hmm._ Stuffing these into my pocket for later exploration, I clutched another handful of the slippery cloth and threw it over my head toward the linens pile.

"What's this?" I heard Carlisle say behind me. I had hit him with the clump of satin and he was trying to pull a flimsy slip off his head.

"That looks very fetching on you," I teased. "Don't you think so, Esme?"

"Oh, yes," she giggled.

Carlisle cocked his switching arm at me, but I scooted out of the way.

I started to hum with the work of sorting and then, discerning Esme's pleasure, I crooned for her. "Look for the silver lining when e'er a cloud appears in the blue..." When she began to sing along, I approached her with my arms open. She stepped in, allowing me to lead her in a dance.

"Am I the only one working?" Carlisle bellowed, although I could see that he was made happy by our spontaneous affection. He was preoccupied with piling together all the equestrian gear.

"It's a swinging-door day," chirped Esme, leaving me to wonder what the hell a "swinging-door day" was—especially being that it was _night_—and organize the rest of the Dagners' possessions. There was a globe that I tossed over my shoulder into the Burkes' stack. Or rather I tried to make it into the stack. Instead, it hit Carlisle on the head, much like the slip, but the globe shattered on impact.

"Edward!" he rebuked. "You will need to replace"—he checked his paper—"Mr. Burke's globe. It _was_ quite nice."

That was the trouble there. Esme only stole the _nicest_ things. At least she had good taste when it came to the neighbors' valuables.

"Please stop throwing objects. It's not a game."

_Fine, Carlisle. Keep your hair on._

"Ha!" I trumpeted, opening a chest. "I found an accordion. I am keeping this. I know how to play it."

"Son." Carlisle's voice was soft—bone-chilling. _"Do we need to go in my study?"_ he asked silently.

"No, sir."

_What a puritanical bluenose!_ I was only fooling.

Peering over Carlisle's arm at his list, I decided to get serious...since I was apparently not allowed to have any fun. "Okay, I'm going to take this piece now."

"And I've got the silver, darling," Esme said.

"Splendid. Now that it's sorted, it won't take you too long to return it. Since you two are getting along so well, I've got a lovely surprise for you in the morning."

Of course, I knew what the surprise was already, but it was a nice gesture. Esme would like it for sure.

She leapt from the window with her load of silver, wrapped in a sheet that she slung over her shoulder. I was carrying an overlarge sideboard and had to use the stairs. We made many quick trips such as this to civilization and back. And right before sunrise, it was finished. Esme and I met in the yard and coincidentally looked up at the attic window together.

"I'll put the stained glass back in," I offered.

"That's awful kind of you." I didn't leave her side, however, and our collective gaze wandered to the almost-full moon that was growing dim above the roofline. "Thank you for your help, Edward."

"Don't thank me. I didn't have a choice in it."

Yeesh. Why was I being such a cad? I didn't mean to be, it just sort of came out that way. We had danced together only a couple of hours before, and then I had to go and ruin it all.

_Maybe I should apologize? It might be in my best interest. No, I haven't done anything wrong._

And I didn't like doing anything simply because it was expected of me.

Esme—not put off by my rudeness—pursed her lips, squinted, and pinched at my cheeks. "My little boykins. So grumpy all the time."

"Am not. I'm not little. I'm not your _boykins_. And I'm not grumpy."

"Well, not all the time."

I scoffed and turned my face away from her hand. Then I recognized that I had hurt her feelings. She wanted more than anything for me to be _her_ boy. Even if I wasn't keen on the idea, being rude about it wasn't fair to her; she was so fond of me, even if I didn't understand why. Like Carlisle...Esme thought that I hung the moon.

"I'm sorry." I lowered my head, made an attempt to smile sweetly, and looked at her through my eyelashes. "Are you mad at me"—then I added for sarcastic effect—"Mommy?"

She was slightly annoyed by the bit at the end, but my apology had restored her good humor and she snapped back into mother mode.

"Oh, Edward! What is it Carlisle says? Shut your face and behave, you cheeky rascal!" She shook her head and her finger at me. "Now I am your mother, young man, and I will discipline you if you need it. I know where that strap is. Your father showed me."

She was bluffing. She wouldn't hit me with the strap. But I wasn't so naïve as to believe that she wouldn't ask Carlisle to. Still, there was something new about her that demanded my respect...and there was something else too.

Adoration.

I leaned my head down to her shoulder, so she could wrap her arms around my neck. Surprisingly, it wasn't the threat that made me want to show affection to Esme. It was a true reaction to her devotion to me. Edward Cullen being endearing and genuine? Only a woman could make that happen, I thought. And it seemed I liked my women—and mothers—piratical.

* * *

**CPOV**

At dawn I looked out into the garden to see Esme embracing Edward. That he would let her do that was surprising, but what shocked me most was that my son had abandoned his perpetual expression of brooding and actually looked meek. And content.

Esme was licking her fingers and using the moisture to try to tame Edward's head of hair.

"All right, darling," I heard her say. "Come on. Let's go see what this surprise is."

All of a sudden I felt an almost indiscernible weight hit the crown of my head. Edward slipped by me and disappeared into his room. I picked up the crumpled paper off the floor by my feet and smoothed it out; it was the list.

"We're finished," he called from the back of the house.

"You impudent scoundrel!" I shouted half-heartedly. "Quit hitting me in the head, you—!"

The past several days had left me knackered, and I was swearing more frequently as a result. I made a promise to myself to curb the blasphemy.

My wife tucked herself neatly under my switching arm and wrapped her arm around my waist. I kissed the top of her head.

"I mean this in the kindest way—because I am terribly fond of your lad, Esme—but I sometimes wish he kipped."

"Kipped? What's that?"

"Sleep. I wish he took naps."

"Oh, yes! I've thought that too. He's a good boy, though."

"Mm-hm... Did he behave during your task?"

"For the most part."

I raised my eyebrows, indicating that I would appreciate more detail about "the most part." If I had to beat the boy, I figured I might as well get it over with before our outing.

I heard Edward drag a chair across the floor, and I imagined for a moment that he was using it to barricade his door. As if that could stop me.

"Oh, he was fine. Quite helpful." Esme tilted her head back to look at me. "I assume that Edward knows already, but...what's this surprise, dear?"

"You'll see soon enough. We will need to change into our classiest togs in a couple of hours."

"Well, in that case, let me go see what I have."

I smiled. "All right. Take your time. And best wear a hat to distract from your eyes."

She nodded and trotted off. Edward must have sensed that I wanted to talk to him, because he rushed out of his room and sat at the piano, plunking out a jaunty tune.

I sat by him on the bench. "Is this jazz?" I asked.

"It is," he replied.

_Edward, I need your help today. Esme's going to be in a crowd of people. I think she's ready, but it wouldn't hurt if you kept a close watch on her mind for me._

"Esme needs a lot of supervision." Edward rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I wish she took naps, Carlisle. Of course, I mean that in the kindest way..."

He snickered; I sighed.

"Edward. This is serious. Say a prayer—"

"A prayer," he repeated sardonically.

My sighing turned to a groan. _Incorrigible._

"Don't worry, I'll help out. I'll warn all the mothers with suckling babes to beware." He pounded out an ominous _dun-dun-dun _on the keys. "Esme may be in the market for the next Carlisle Junior."

I stood up, and Edward's smug expression abruptly turned apologetic.

"I believe _you_, son, are Junior. And I told you what Carlisle Senior would do if Junior continued to make smart-mouthed remarks about his mother."

I stepped off towards my study and clicked my tongue through my teeth for Edward to follow. When he didn't move from the piano bench, I began counting off loudly. This was Esme's trick. If he didn't come by the count of three, then he was in trouble. She'd tried to do it to me even, but I'd checked her. I know Edward found it demeaning (because _I_ found it demeaning), but it did work.

He met me in front of my desk. I didn't see much point in dragging it out, so I came behind him and grabbed his upper arm so that he was facing away from me. He ducked his head in an effort to twist out of my grip, but consequently he was bent over and in an ideal position for a spanking.

I smacked the seat of his trousers a couple dozen times. My grip on his arm was tight, but it allowed him a lot of range of motion for bucking and squirming. This resulted in a moving target, but I performed my part flawlessly.

I hoped Edward was getting the message that I was not averse to corporal punishment anymore. I'd let him get away with too much already, and that would end here. He wasn't crying, but I felt that I'd given him what was deserved, and I suspected he was well aware that it could be worse.

When it was over, Edward's chin trembled. I hated that. It was for confidence that I told myself that causing him this little bit of pain would benefit him in the long run. Providing consequences for my son when he broke the rules was my responsibility.

The boy spoke first, rubbing his backside. "I'm sorry, Dad."

I tried not to act surprised. Usually he was angry at me when I punished him.

I nodded my acceptance. "Don't let it happen again."

"No, sir. I won't."

I placed my palm on the back of his head and forced him under my arm—a playful embrace to say it all was water under the bridge and I was still terribly fond of the lad.

"May I go?" he asked.

"In a minute. You'll need to get ready for the show, but first I want to talk to you about the future. I do hope that you are agreeable to the coming move?"

"Um, sure. We need to go before the townies start to suspect us. I understand that the return of the neighbors' belongings was for Esme to learn her lesson, but it won't do much for us trying to remain inconspicuous."

"Nor the stealing in the first place."

"No," he agreed.

"And the location...?"

"I could use a bit of seclusion, I suppose, but I would ask permission to go off on my own now and again. I'll miss the automobile, of course."

"Well, we'll see what we can do. You'll go with us, though? Esme won't agree to go without you."

"Aye-aye, captain." He grinned and saluted me.

"Brilliant. Go get dressed." I gave him one final smack to send him off to his room.

I slipped into my "glad rags" as well, which was comprised of a white suit with jacket and a dark necktie. I had reluctantly stowed the switch on the top shelf of my closet, but now I wished I had something to tuck under my arm. Decades ago, a riding crop would have been acceptable; I supposed the current trend would be to carry a cane, but I didn't own one. Instead I opted for an umbrella, which would be useful if the sun chose to make an appearance.

Esme, pressed and dressed and looking like an angel, helped Edward knot his Oxford-blue bowtie that matched his trousers.

She suddenly slapped both sides of his face hard.

"Ow! What did you do that for?" He covered the injuries with his hands, as his mouth hung open in accusation.

She shrugged casually. "You're so pale, Edward. You need some color in your cheeks."

I thought that perhaps she was using that for an excuse to take out her recent frustrations with the boy. If so, she was hiding her aggression well.

_If I were you, _I told Edward, _I would watch myself._

He scowled.

By good fortune it was an opportunely overcast day, and we three headed out into the mist. We stood in a queue to get down to the water, but Esme was soon beside herself with ecstasy.

It was the annual boat show. There were hundreds of boats—skipjacks, bateaus, catamarans, and more—positioned along the quay. Even Edward looked entertained. There was one vessel in particular I wanted to show my wife and son.

I led them down to the last jetty, where we found moored to the posts a comfortably sized luxury yacht.

Esme gasped. "Carlisle! This is the most beautiful boat I've ever seen."

I smiled broadly. "It's yours."

"Wha—?"

Edward laughed—and this time it wasn't mocking.

She paced up and down the wooden planks, taking in all the details. When she reached the stern, a hand came up over her mouth. She was speechless, locked in a glare with the painted script that matched the color of Edward's bowtie: _HMS ESME._

_Edward_, I asked silently, _does she like it? She's not upset, is she? These are happy emotions, I hope..._

"I can't think when you're both thinking _at _me at once," he complained. "Yes, she likes it, Carlisle. She's very happy. And no, Esme, he's not teasing you. It's really yours, and yes, you can go on board."

I beamed. "We're going to sail around the world, love. But first there's one more surprise."

"I don't know if I can take another surprise, darling. It's all too much."

Despite her protest, I pulled a paper from my inside jacket pocket. It was the title deed for an unpopulated island off the coast of Brazil, only hours away by boat from the port in Rio de Janeiro.

She read the paper I handed to her (which happened to be in English) and understood at once; she was sharper than Edward gave her credit for.

"We're going to live here?" she asked.

"It's an island for you," I clarified. "Yes, we will live there."

"We have to leave this place?"

"That's the life we lead, love. Chop and change, you know. It's time we start over again."

_Edward, what's she thinking? Please tell me she willing?_

"I told you two already. You're going to have to stop talking to me at the same time! It's very annoying" Edward sighed deeply. "Esme, tell him."

"I think it's..."

I held my breath. "Yes?"

"C'est très romantique!" She wrapped her arms around me.

_Dieu merci._

"That's _your_ surprise, Carlisle," Edward interpreted. "Esme has learned French. It won't help you where we're going, Esme. You'll need to learn Portuguese."

"My clever girl," I murmured in her hair. "So clever and so beautiful."

I held her at arms length to gaze at this bewitching, persevering woman—my mate. She was smiling _and_ crying. I stroked her hair and pulled her to my chest again until her breathing slowed. With Esme by my side and Edward always two steps ahead of us...was I the most fortunate man to ever live? It felt that way.

I stepped back but held on to Esme.

"Is this a new frock?" I asked. "It's quite enchanting."

Esme and Edward laughed at me.

"What is it now?"

Esme couldn't talk this time for laughing.

Edward explained. "Nobody says _frock_, Carlisle. It's a dress."

I narrowed my eyes again. I didn't care what anyone said or didn't. It dawned on me that I hadn't purchased this frock...or sodding dress...or whatever the bloody hell it was.

"Esme," I said, my voice grim.

Her laughter ceased, whilst the sobs returned more pronounced. I firmly grasped her shoulders and shook her. Esme wouldn't meet my eyes, which confirmed my suspicions.

This wasn't happening. How could she? After all we had been through...

Edward started to fidget when people in the crowd began to look our way. He patted his hips and dug into his trousers. "Here, I'll get her a handkerchief...she needs to hide her eyes," he said under his breath.

The boy pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket, but when he offered it, we saw that it obviously wasn't a pocket-handkerchief, but a pair of lacy ladies' knickers. His eyes grew wide with worry and he backed away from me. Then he threw the panties—which hit me in the head, of course—and ran away.

Just then, Miss Dagner, happened to pass us by and recognized her missing piece of intimate apparel crumpled up in my hair.

"Dr. Cullen?" she queried suspiciously.

I gritted my teeth and growled, "Blankety-blank."

THE END

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**Thank you for reading! Please review.**


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